


A Way to Say I'm Sorry

by fiftysevenacademics (rapiddescent)



Category: Gracepoint (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapiddescent/pseuds/fiftysevenacademics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gemma regrets her rude reply to Carver's invitation to relax, and finds a way to make up for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Way to Say I'm Sorry

The instant the door closed behind her, Gemma winced and buried her face in her hands. Carver had made one of the most artless come-ons she'd ever experienced.

"So, would you like to _relax_..a bit...here with me...tonight?"

It had been so unexpected, so without guile, that it prompted from her unvarnished honesty: "Oh God no!" followed by fumbling around for words to make it better and only making it worse.

"I wouldn't want to worry."

"Worry about?"

"Whether you'd pass out on me."

She felt that about six years had lapsed between that moment and the one where she slumped against the wall in the hallway outside Carver's room, hugging herself with one arm and pressing her fingertips of the other to her eyes until she felt composed enough to return to the front desk. When at last she crawled into bed, she couldn't sleep. She ran the scene over and over in her mind, thinking of what she should have said, playing it out differently each time until it hit her, "This wasn't all my doing. What should Carver have said? What if he had said it differently? What would I have done then?"

She pictured him with his hands on those slender hips that rocked slightly as he stood between her and the bed, wearing a white shirt that somehow always seemed way too tight on his skinny, but shapely, chest. He had not yet removed his tie, but the top shirt button was open beneath it, revealing a graceful throat. His brown eyes searched hers. She knew their intensity could come from hurt or anger, or swing from one to the other in a flash, and she wanted to avoid them.

She put different words in his mouth, smooth words spoken in a coaxing voice. He lost the pleading face and halting speech. He was tall, arrogant and took charge of their conversation. Watching him in her mind's eye, a little flicker of something she had felt around him ever since he came to stay at the hotel roared into something bigger. She felt the tingle of her nipples stiffening and a jagged pang coursing through her gut. She let him undress her so she could feel his long, delicate fingers on her skin. She forgot to worry about his illness, and let him press her lips to his as her hand began to travel down her belly to soothe an urgent ache between her legs.

As sleep finally claimed her, she resolved to apologize to him tomorrow.

Carver must have arisen earlier than usual because Gemma was always at the front desk by 7:00 and said "Good morning" to him as he left, and she didn't see him today. She felt vaguely irritated that her apology would have to wait, but the feeling faded as she went about her morning routine, and she forgot about it altogether until Paul Coates stopped by for a cup of coffee.

"It's sad about Jack," he said between sips.

"What happened?"

"He killed himself last night."

She inhaled sharply and covered her mouth with her hand.

"No!"

"Looks like he drowned himself. They found his body on the beach early this morning."

"Well, the media was really after him. It was all too much, I suppose."

Gemma hadn't known him beyond referring hotel guests to his boat rentals. She wasn't inclined to simulate grief she didn't feel, and her mind wandered back to Carver. He must have been at the police station for hours already.

"That man does nothing but work," she thought. "He needs to relax." She had to turn quickly to wipe a table so Paul wouldn't see the flush that invaded her cheeks. Her regret for the words she had chosen last night solidified into remorse, and the miserable feeling stuck with her the rest of the day.

She didn't see Carver return that evening, either. She sat, out of sorts, at the front desk, doodling on a notepad, when the delivery man from the Chinese restaurant entered and asked how to get to Carver's room.

"Here," Gemma took $10 from her wallet. "Let me give you your tip and I'll take it to him myself." She selected her finest bottle of chardonnay from the bar's refrigerator and headed upstairs, floating on the butterflies in her stomach.

"Come in!" Carver called when she knocked. He was in the middle of loosening his tie and his shirt was open far enough to reveal a generous view of his chest when she opened the door. He raised one eyebrow when he saw who had arrived with his food. The expression deepened into a dark scowl.

She stepped over the threshold and stood, holding up the bag.

"I thought I'd deliver your dinner and offer this as an apology," she lifted the wine bottle. "It's pretty good with Chinese food." She forced herself to look him in the face, although inwardly she cringed with embarrassment.

"Apologize for what?"

"My hasty, tactless reply to you last night."

"And you think bringing me food that I ordered myself and a bottle of cheap wine is going to make things better?"

"It's not cheap.."

"Look," he cut her off angrily. "I'm not here to play games or flirt. I'm here to solve a boy's murder. Rude hotel owners who send mixed signals aren't part of my job description."

She set the food on the table and looked down, pausing for a moment before starting to turn toward the door.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice that caught near the end as tears began to sting her eyes.

"What do you want, Gemma?" He practically spat the words. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob.

"Turn around and answer me."

She faced him, but could not speak. Several feet separated them but he felt close, his long, lean body and thatch of chestnut hair, the heat of his anger, felt too close for her to think clearly or even to breathe. She was holding her breath and pushing back against the memory of what she had done alone in bed last night.

"Come here," he said.

She took a few steps forward and stopped in front of him.

He looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her nipples, erect beneath her sweater. He ran his thumb over the one closest to him. A strange languor overcame her even as the blood rushed to her cheeks, and she had to look away.

"I think it's pretty clear what you want," he said quietly, almost mockingly. "I guess it's up to me whether you get it or not, right?"

He was brushing his palms lightly against both her nipples now. Without realizing it, she was leaning slightly into his touch, and breathing, short and shallow, through parted lips. She nodded unthinkingly and he returned a wicked smile. Her heart beat faster, whether from fear or desire or some mixture of the two, she couldn't tell for sure.

"Take off your clothes." She began to lift her sweater, then hesitated.

"Go on." She took a deep breath and lifted the fluffy blue wool over her blonde hair, then removed her pants.

"You're not done yet, are you," Carver said, his voice filled with just enough severity that it came out as an order, rather than a simple statement of fact. She unhooked her bra and as it fell to the floor, her breasts bounced. Carver caressed them upwards from the fullest part at the bottom then stopped to finger her nipples until she squirmed and softened under his touch. He slipped the fingers of one hand under her panties. She felt them stroking the soft groove between her labia very gently, as if asking permission, and she opened her legs a little to let him in. Two of his elegant fingers fluttered around her clit then penetrated her quickly, deeply, and her head fell back with closed eyes as she began to undulate on his hand.

Just as suddenly, he withdrew his hand and removed her panties, leaving her completely naked, confused and breathing hard. He reached in his pocket. She heard something clank as he brought it back out again and when he held up the handcuffs, it triggered a paralyzing tripwire of adrenaline and desire. She nodded almost imperceptibly, her eyes wide and lips slack, as he clapped them expertly around her wrists and the lock clicked into place.

Taking the link between the cuffs, he led her to the bed and pushed her head down to the edge, so she stood bent over, balanced on her forearms. When she opened her eyes, all she could see was the handcuffs against the muted fabric of the bedspread. A smooth, round part of one of the cuffs pressed into her forehead. It did not hurt, but she could not ignore its presence.

Carver now rubbed his palms on her buttocks in large, slow circles, and nudged her legs a little wider with his knees. She braced herself against the bed and raised her ass a little higher, moving it slightly in time to his touch. Without warning, he slapped one side very hard and when she went rigid and shrieked, he slapped the other just as hard.

She collapsed against the bed, crying out, but he pulled her back up by the hips.

"Stay standing."

She tried to do as she was told, but her legs felt like water and her pussy felt like fire. He had to brace her hip against his thigh with one hand and spank her with the other, over and over again until she was a moaning, sopping wet mess. He stopped and ran his hands over the livid marks on her buttocks, then she heard a zipper and the sound of his pants falling to the floor. She heard a condom wrapper crinkle and a moment later, he had gripped both her hips and she felt the head of his cock rubbing back and forth over her clit before sinking into her.

When he thrust in, her face banged against the handcuffs, and was relieved in the outthrust, only to be battered again, and the sensation became just one of many that coalesced around a single, insistent point begging for release. She wanted to reach between her legs with her own hand, but the handcuffs prevented it, leaving her with no recourse but to whimper helplessly and hope that Carver gave her what she craved.

He used long, hard strokes alternating with shorter, more calculated ones and at last, reached around to stroke her clit while he fucked her. She came frantically, falling against the bed with Carver in her still, and ground her pussy against the mattress until another orgasm seized her. She felt Carver's cock tighten and jerk as his own body went rigid and he cried out, too.

He fell into a heap next to her on the bed, and kissed her mouth.

"I think _now_ we can pass out," he grinned.


End file.
